"How's that going?"
"Not great." His eyes drop to my mouth. "Especially when you're wearing that tank top."
"I can put the overshirt back on."
"Don't." The word comes out rough. "I like the tank top."
My face heats. "Holt."
"Yeah?"
"You can't just say things like that while I'm trying to work."
"Why not?"
"Because I'll forget how to drain oil properly and then someone's car will explode."
His mouth curves. "Fair point." But he doesn't move away immediately. Just stands there, close enough that I can smell the clean sweat on him, the grease, the faint hint of the soap he uses.
Finn is having the time of his life, grinning at us like we're his personal entertainment. At one point he mutters "just coworkers" loud enough for us to hear, and Holt throws a rag at his head.
By the time we close up at six, I'm exhausted from the constant awareness. The tension humming under my skin all day. The way every small touch felt loaded with meaning.
We head upstairs in silence. Finn disappeared an hour ago—probably to give us space, which is both helpful and terrifying.
Holt makes dinner. Grilled cheese and tomato soup, nothing fancy, but we move around each other in the tiny kitchen with an ease that feels both comfortable and dangerous.
We eat at the small table by the window, watching the sunset turn the sky orange and pink. The cicadas are starting up again, that relentless drone that means the heat's still got us in its grip.
"You're quiet," he says.
"I'm always quiet when I'm eating."
"You're never quiet."
"...I'm processing."
"What?"
"Today. All of—" I wave my grilled cheese vaguely. "—that."
He sets down his spoon, looks at me. "We should probably talk about this morning."
"The cuddling?"
"Yeah."
I set down my grilled cheese. "What about it?"
"I woke up and you were right there and I—" He stops, his hand flexing around his spoon. "I didn't mind it."
"Holt-speak for you liked it?"
His mouth curves. "I liked it."
"Me too." I take a breath. "So what does that mean?"
"I don't know yet. But I know I don't want to sleep on that couch anymore."
